


Left to the Imagination

by pauraque



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, Community: pornish_pixies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-04
Updated: 2003-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most important sex organ is the one between your ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left to the Imagination

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Come Shots challenge at Pornish Pixies, which was to write a fic focusing on the moment of... uh... satsifaction. :)

Leather trousers— no, _silk_ trousers that flutter as Sirius walks barefoot towards you across the bedroom, and a black leather jacket with no shirt underneath. Tight pale stomach with dark hair leading down to Sirius's hard cock, defined by white reflections in black silk. It must feel good to him, the way he moves his hips, the husky way he growls a laugh as he picks up his wand.

And he waves it through the air and it's easy, always so easy for him— no wizard in a storybook ever looked like this— and locks your ankles to the bedposts, you wrists together above your head. And you pull, testing the degree to which you're helpless at his mercy, and as always, there isn't any give in his charms.

He slithers out of his jacket— sinewy arms and narrow waist (oh god)-- and crawls up on the bed beside you. You can feel his solid weight pushing down the mattress under your knees, and the scent of his arousal goes down like a needle-sharp lightning bolt. Your dick is already hard, already throbbing for touch, begging for Sirius's open-mouthed kisses, Sirius's strong hard hands, Sirius's sharp white teeth. He runs his tongue quickly up your inner arm from elbow to wrist, and from the wicked gleam in his eyes that meet yours from behind wild hair falling in his face, you know that tonight Sirius is going to play with you for a long, long—

*

Peter tried to hold back, but the orgasm flooded up like a bright red riptide and just as hopeless to control, and he let slip a rough, feral cry as he thrust frantically into his own grasping hand. His knees came up convulsively as he rolled partway onto his side, and his left hand clutched at the headboard, his nails digging scratches into the wood; he spurted come over the edge of the mattress and all over the nice new carpet. It was a high-pitched climax from being over-excited, and it burnt itself out all too soon.

After a moment, his body unclenched, and he let go of the headboard, panting. He rubbed his hand over his face, groaning his annoyance through ragged breath. Sometimes his imagination was just too vivid for his own good.

He took a minute to catch his breath, handling his cock back and forth as the last drops of come leaked out and soaked into the bedsheets. He glanced at the night table— a rivulet of white ran down its metal leg, and the towel he hadn't got to in time sat folded on top. If towels were capable of looking smug, this one had certainly mastered the trick.

But it was all right, he thought. He'd draw it out next time, make it last. His Sirius was always ready to play, and they had all the time in the world.


End file.
